Some artists introduce themselves politely. Bree Carter does the opposite—she arrives, plants a flag, and dares the room not to look. Born in Riverside and raised across the sprawl of the Inland Empire, Bree carries that resilience in her cadence: tough where it needs to be, smooth where it counts, and always anchored in self-belief that was woven into her from childhood.
Her mother—strict, structured, and serious about raising a confident daughter—unintentionally built an artist with a spine of steel. She grew up knowing she was smart, knowing she was beautiful, and knowing she was capable. That kind of foundation doesn’t fade—it shows up in every bar she delivers today.
Bree’s new album, “Put That Bree Carter On,” is a victory lap with a pulse. 13 tracks, packed with personality, bounce, attitude, and an unmistakable Inland Empire energy. The project features RJMrLA, Marc Nasty, Jati, and an emotional opening moment: an intro from her late producer 89, who passed away but left his stamp on her sound and journey. That intro feels like a blessing, a baton, and a reminder of why Bree refuses to slow down.
The album’s standouts—“Player,” “Do It,” “Where Dem Dollaz At?” and “Sex Symbol”—capture different sides of her artistry. One minute she’s talking slick, next she’s floating, then she’s stomping through the beat like she owns the entire tempo. What ties it all together is intention. Bree makes music like someone who knows exactly who she is and exactly who she plans to become.
She’ll tell you she started taking music seriously around six to eight years ago, but the truth is she was built for this long before the studio was in the picture. And while her early fire was lit by West Coast staples like RJ, her true motivation now comes from two places: her kids, and her hunger to keep evolving. Add in a lineage of influences—Lil Wayne, Westside Connection, Da Brat, Aaliyah—and you get an artist who bridges eras without forcing it.
“Put That Bree Carter On” doesn’t sound like a debut, and it doesn’t sound like someone testing the waters. It sounds like an arrival. A woman who’s unlocked her voice, her power, her identity—and isn’t asking for permission with any of it.
